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Part 12
Moira's stomach reminded her she'd forgotten her breakfast in her cabin. Isabella greeted her, dismissing her crewmen she was giving orders to. "I trust you slept well, Sweetness?"
"I trust you didn't," Moira grinned, though it was short-lived.
"I don't know where you find these boys, my dear, but please hook me up with your supplier," Isabella stretched, self-satisfied. She noticed Moira's expression, "Let me guess, your assassin is up to his old tricks?"
"Old tricks?" Moira asked, looking around for somewhere more private than right outside her cabin's windows. She began walking toward the prow of the ship. "No, I've seen his old tricks. He's not acting like himself."
Isabella nodded, but waited till they were out of earshot of the cabin to reply, "I saw that. And I apologize for my part in that. And I'm sure, as soon as he can walk," the amusement in her voice was plain, "Cullen will, too." They reached the prow and the two women turned to look at one another, leaning on the railing. Isabella brushed an errant curl out of Moira's eyes. It was an oddly intimate gesture, but Moira let it pass for now. Isabella continued, "Be careful with him, Moira." Moira blinked at the use of her given name, she thought Isabella hadn't really known it, hence the constant, "Sweetness." "I'm not sure he knows which end is up right now."
Moira nodded, looking out to the horizon. She didn't suffer from seasickness, fortunately, but the bobbing horizon was slightly unsettling. "I'm trying to. But we're sharing a cabin."
"Well, I'd offer to let you sleep in mine, Sweetness, but I'm having too much fun with your Templar," Isabella laughed.
"Please stop calling him that," Moira said, her mouth twisting in irritation. "He's not 'mine.'"
"He's your recruit, is he not? Then he's yours. Whether you take him to bed or not," Isabella pointed out.
Moira squinted into the early morning sunlight, "Well, I think I have enough problems in the 'taking men to bed' area, Isabella. I don't need more."
Isabella leaned on the railing with both elbows, looking out at the horizon, "I almost envy you, my dear. Many people go their whole lives never finding even one person to fall in love with who loves them back. And you have two. "
"I don't – I'm not –," Moira began.
Isabella waved her hand, interrupting the mage, "Yes, you do and you are. I had fun with your Alistair and you, and Zevran was a joy in the brief time he was with me, despite him killing the husband I didn't love, and causing me a great deal of inconvenience. However, Alistair barely looked at me while were all together and I've never seen Zevran watch anyone the way he watches you. By the way, you really are worth watching in that color. And where did you get that dress?"
Moira felt her cheeks redden, "Zevran bought this and a few other dresses for me in Highever."
Isabella laughed, "That man does have it bad, if he's buying you clothes! He has excellent taste, by the way. In clothes and women."
"Speaking of clothes, I don't suppose you have any pants and shirts I could borrow? He hid all mine," Moira told her ruefully, changing the subject; it had taken a turn for the uncomfortable. She'd hoped Isabella would have been able to aid her in figuring out what to do with her friend, but the captain hadn't been of any assistance. Hopefully, the pirate's exertions with Cullen would prove more helpful.
"You're joking! " Isabella replied, "No, I can see you're not. I've got a cabingirl about your size, I'll see if she has any spare clothes. We'll be docking in Antiva City, soon, though. We need supplies and cargo for Minrathrous. You can buy new clothes there."
Moira's stomach grumbled loudly and the Mabari whined, "I don't suppose there's still breakfast left? And a bone for Perrin?" Antiva City, great. I wonder if the old contract was still out on me and Alistair?
Isabella turned her head at the change in subject and the noise Moira's stomach made, "I see the Grey Warden appetite is not false, then."
Moira put her hands to her stomach, "No, it's not. Mabaris' either."
Isabella and Moira went to get the Grey Warden some more breakfast and to find a bone for Perrin. Safely sitting cross legged on deck out of the way of the busy crew, Moira and Perrin ate their breakfast. She was still seated, however, so that she could see the door to the cabins. She was waiting to see if Zevran would come out so she could apologize for getting so upset. However, Zevran wasn't the first to emerge into the swiftly growing daylight. Cullen stepped out into the bright morning sun, squinting. She smiled, watching Isabella hurry over to greet him. The pirate captain ran her fingers up along the young man's jawline and into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers for a good morning kiss. Moira felt compelled to look away, though, as Cullen pulled the older woman close to him, his hands on the small of her back and Isabella's other hand travelled down to grab Cullen's ass. She scratched Perrin behind the ears, studiously ignoring her friends' display of open lust.
She ate the last bit of porridge in her bowl and set it aside as a shadow fell on her. She looked up, squinting into the sunlight. Zevran stood in front of her, hands on his hips, scowling down at her. She stood up, to meet him on equal ground, before he could crouch down to her level. "Isabella told me we'll be stopping over in Antiva City for supplies and cargo."
He cursed in Antivan, "And I suppose you'll want to disembark there, then?" It was going to be a nightmare protecting her in the heart of Crow territory. Especially since Cullen wasn't yet up to either of their standards.
Moira shrugged, "I need clothes other than dresses, Zev. I can't train in a dress and I am sorely out of shape."
Zevran blinked. "Then I apologize for getting rid of your clothes."
Moira didn't want him to apologize for kissing her, either time. She knew he'd come out here to apologize, but she changed her mind, sweeping everything under the carpet was probably safer. She was getting to be better at that than he was. She wasn't sure what she really wanted from him, other than his friendship, but an apology for how he felt wasn't called for in the least. "I've arranged to borrow some clothes from one of Isabella's crew. We can at least get some practice in before we dock in Antiva City."
Zevran turned to look at Cullen and Isabella still kissing their good mornings, "I see Cullen enjoyed his education last night."
Moira laughed humorlessly, "Isabella said he was a good student."
The days leading up to docking at Antiva City went quickly. Other than sleeping, Zevran and Moira managed to avoid each other, not an easy feat on the small ship. Cullen was still enraptured by Isabella and they kept disappearing down to her cabin periodically throughout the day. Even sleeping, Moira kept to her side of the bed after getting extra blankets from Isabella. She also stopped wearing the dresses and stuck to the borrowed sleeveless shirt that was too small across her shoulders and breasts and loose across her stomach and pants that were too tight in the legs but loose around her hips. She felt ridiculous, but the dresses were just too hard to maneuver in on deck and she was too confused about Zevran to keep wearing them.
One day out from Antiva City, however, and Moira had had enough. She was beginning to miss Alistair more and more with each passing day and watching Cullen and Isabella make out almost constantly was irritating. She went below and grabbed her sword and dagger and Zev's blades. She stalked back up, searching for Zevran. Her Mabari flopped down on the deck, basking in the noon sun as she walked purposefully over to the Antivan with her handful of weapons. She stopped in front of him, as he leaned on the rail at the prow. He was shirtless, again. She kept her eyes riveted to his face as he stared at her lazily. Wordlessly she handed him his blades. He took them from her, his eyebrows raised.
"I'm tired of standing around," she told him. "And if we're expecting trouble tomorrow, I'd rather not be too rusty to remember which end of the sword goes where."
"The pointy end always goes into the bad guy, my dear Moira," he quipped, bouncing loosely to ready himself.
"Don't you want to put a shirt on?" She asked, rolling her shoulders.
"All the better to distract you with, my Warden," Zevran purred, then launched at her in an attack. She barely got her blades up in time to block his opening slash. Using her foot, she shoved him backward.
"Distract? You flatter yourself," she said, moving around him. He traveled with her, mimicking her motions so that they moved opposite in a circle. With the tightening of his pectoral muscles, she saw the projection of his lunge before he did it, and had her blades up to block him again. This time, as she shoved him back, she followed with an offensive slash and parry that cost him his offhand dagger. Without missing a beat, he flipped backward toward where he'd lost his dagger and grabbed it.
He saluted her with his sword, "Point to the Warden."
She bowed, and was just barely able to deflect his next strike, parrying and taking several steps back. She hadn't yet begun to use her magic to augment her strength, however. She could tell the assassin was taking it easy on her and not hitting her hard enough for her to need that boost. And it was making her angry, "Stop trying to hit me and HIT ME!" She grated through her teeth as their blades crossed to the hilts again bringing them close together.
They separated, breathing a little heavier than normal, but both knew they weren't really working their hardest. Zevran's expression was neutral as he replied, "You want to do this for real, then, my Warden? So be it." Again they circled each other, Moira bringing her magic up to augment her strength.
Cullen came back on deck after another round with Isabella to find the Warden and the Assassin doing their best to try to kill each other. Or so it seemed from the outside. He'd learned enough watching them fight others that he knew each was pulling back from killing or maiming the other, but were still doing their best to dominate the fight. Cullen started forward to break it up before one of them got hurt. Isabella's hand on his arm stopped him. "Don't, Lover. They're just working out some… kinks."
"What are you talking about? They're going to hurt one another," he told her gesturing.
"I'm afraid they've already done that."
Moira blinked sweat out of her eyes, parrying another thrust from Zev and jumping over a pile of ropes. She feinted with her own blade, bringing her own dagger up, searching for a hole in his guard. He twisted and deflected, not falling for the feint. Blades flashed in the sunlight, Moira thought only of the next move, the next strike, the next obstacle. The only thing that existed was the elf in front of her with his dancing weapons. He managed to get in a lucky strike with the flat of his blade on her arm and her suddenly numb fingers dropped her sword. She ducked his next hit, parrying with her dagger as she dove for her sword. Before she could regain her feet, he was kneeling above her with his dagger at her throat. "Do you yield, my Warden?" His face was unreadable.
Moira considered. She was exhausted, but her mind still raced frantically. This fight hadn't been enough. Not by a long shot. However, she wasn't done, "Do you?" She flicked her eyes downward where her dagger was inches away from his femoral artery.
He rose, holding his hand out to help her up, "Touche. A draw, then."
"No, it's not," she told him, shaking her head. She walked over and yanked a bit of twine from one of the rope piles and quickly braided her hair out of her face. She looked over at him, just watching her, caution written on his face. She grinned tightly at him, then rushed him, feinting with her blade and thrusting with her sword, he knocked the feint aside and blocked her strike. Then, he went on the offensive. She was forced to retreat and parry his deft blades as he sought her weaknesses. Their eyes locked and Moira was able to gain the upper hand again, pushing him backwards.
With increasing alarm, Cullen watched the two elves renew their combat, both their expressions grim with concentration. Even as experienced a fighter as he was, he almost couldn't follow their movements, Zevran's decades of experience counterbalancing Moira's Grey Warden stamina and her magical strength. He thought he saw Moira slip once, but she recovered swiftly. He couldn't tell if Zevran had missed that window of opportunity or ignored it. "We need to put a stop to this," he told Isabella.
Cullen watched Isabella look around at her crew. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch the two fighters dance across the deck. Cullen had to admit, if he hadn't been worried about both of them, and he was surprised to find himself counting the assassin as his friend, he'd have had to admire their grace as each tried to disable the other. The crew was starting to shout bets to one another, choosing sides in the supposed training exercise. Cheering when they thought one or the other was about to yield or win.
"No, I don't think I'm going to stop it quite yet, Lover," Isabella said, crossing her arms and watching Moira and Zevran lock blades to the hilts again and shove each other away. "They need this. Just relax and watch the show. I have plenty of poultices, should they need them. They should wear each other out, soon."
Moira was beginning to feel exhaustion strain her arms and legs. She'd almost made a mistake a few seconds ago. Either Zevran was getting tired too, since he didn't take advantage of it, or he was being polite. From the expression of concentration on his face, it was probably the former. She lost track of her footing and tripped over a rope. She started to fall and swung her legs on the way down, tripping him, too. Unfortunately, it was a miscalculation. He fell on top of her, and managed to pin her hands. "Now do you yield, my Warden?"
She stared into his hazel eyes, his face inches from hers. She couldn't catch her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears, she could smell the sweat coating his bare skin, the salt spray that mingled in his braided hair, that indefinable scent that was Zevran. The strength pinning her arms did not waiver, despite the fact that he was as exhausted and as out of breath as she. She shifted her hips under him, trying to dislodge him. She felt him harden against her and automatically grind his hips before freezing and staring down at her. She swallowed, "No."
"What was that?" His tone was teasing, his features relaxing into a grin as he seemed to regain control of himself. "I didn't quite hear you."
"Get off me," she told him, though she didn't really have the energy to push him off. Her arms, she could tell, had about as much strength as a cooked noodle.
"Then, I yield to you, my Warden," he flung himself off her and rolled over on his back on the deck. "I don't think I could move even an eyebrow," he closed his eyes. "If you still have the strength, perhaps you could train Cullen, then?" He opened one eye to look at her as she struggled to her feet. She gathered up their weapons and stepped over Zevran, not dignifying his joke with an answer. Her knees felt like they were barely holding her weight, but she willed her legs to work and stumbled to her cabin.
Cullen turned to Isabella as the mage passed, "THAT's something they needed?"
"Lover, you have a lot to learn about people, especially complicated people like your Warden and her assassin." Isabella whistled loudly, "Fun's over, back to work!" She shouted at her crew. She motioned to Cullen to follow her. He stood behind her as she knelt by Zevran. "Are you all right, my friend?"
He opened an eye to look at her, "I think she may have killed me, Isabella."
"You're tougher than one pissed off mage who's worried sick, Zevran," Isabella held out a hand to help him sit up. "She really misses her king, doesn't she?"
Zevran stood up, stretching. "I think we both do." He wandered back to the prow of the ship.
